Page 43 of Cross the Line
"No worries, Sergeant." I kept my tone light. Pleasant. "I know depth perception's one of the first things to go with age."
His face went eggplant-purple. "You think you're something special, don't you? Just because you wore a fancy suit at 52 doesn't mean..."
"Is there something you needed, Sergeant?" Hawley interrupted. Voice low and even.
He still hadn't looked up from his paperwork. Hadn't changed his posture at all. But something in his stillness radiatedwarning. Like a predator so confident in its strength it didn't need to display it.
Saunders's mouth snapped shut. He glared at Hawley, then at me, before muttering something that sounded like "pretty boys" and stomping off.
Good riddance.
"My hero," I said, spinning my chair to face Hawley properly.
He finally looked up. His face flat. "You shouldn't antagonize him."
"He started it."
"What are you, twelve?"
"On a scale of one to ten, maybe."
That earned me another almost-reaction, quickly suppressed. I grinned, savoring the small victory. Making Hawley crack, even microscopically, had become my new favorite hobby.
Dangerous hobby, maybe. But addictive.
"Earth to Carlson." Hawley's voice cut through my thoughts. "You planning to do any work today, or just daydream at your desk?"
"I'm mentally preparing. It's an important part of my process."
"Your process needs work."
"Says the man who alphabetizes his cereal boxes."
"I don't..." His eyes narrowed. "They're organized by nutritional value, not alphabetically."
I laughed. Genuinely delighted. "That's evenworse!"
"It'sefficient..."
The door to Inspector Murphy's office swung open with enough force to silence the entire bullpen.
The laughter died in my throat.
Murphy stood in the doorway. Face carved from granite. His gaze swept the room like a searchlight before landing on us.
"Carlson. Hawley." Not a request. A summons. "My office. Now."
Every conversation in the bullpen cut off. I felt the weight of two dozen stares tracking us as we stood. Hawley's expression had already gone completely neutral. The cop face he kept ready for moments like this.
"What did you do?" I whispered as we crossed the room.
"Nothing. What didyoudo?"
"Also nothing. Recently."
Murphy held the door open. His face revealing absolutely zero information. We filed past him into the office. The door clicked shut behind us with the finality of a coffin lid.
He didn't invite us to sit.
